Close your eyes: Dead to the world
by My Deliah
Summary: "Have you seen the lights go out in someone's eyes as they die? It's not beautiful, not sad. It doesn't make me feel anything." - Nathaniel Steele. But Xavier believes Nathaniel can be good, and Rogue believes that he can feel. Are they right though?
1. Different

**Close your eyes; Dead to the world**

_**Chapter 1**_

My colleagues have a joke amongst themselves; that I am a man made of iron. This sounds very pretentious and cartoonish, I know. Of course I do not have a body, or a heart of iron. The truth is, I'm just cold.

Someone once said to me that maybe an iron heart loves as strongly as any other heart, and that it is made of iron so that it will never break. I think she meant that if you love someone deeply, your iron heart would protect that love, and never let it be harmed. It's a shame that I don't fit in that description because it does sound nice and human.

I always saw myself as the one who was right. I couldn't feel for another living being, which is by all means cold. Cruelty though had never been a problem of mine. I guess with my pathology, the torture and death of my fellow creatures for my own amusement wouldn't be so strange. I mean, not so strange to a psychologist, criminal pathologist or profiler. To any normal person the act of torture for amusement would always be considered strange, frightening. Maybe that's for the better as well. Back to my point though, I am not cruel. I do however think I'm right most of the time.

They say life is not black and white, there are shades of grey. I find it very hard to see these shades, since they usually appear in relation to other people. And other people are not my forte. However this is the story of how I met a very strange man named Xavier, and how he and his colleagues, students and fellow mutants taught me more about life than I thought I'd ever know.

It all began when I was still young, barely able to call myself a grown man. I was however most certainly already able to call myself a professional killer. My mission's objective at the time was very clear, capture or in any other way neutralise an assassin. While I cannot go into details on the man who hired me, I can tell you that the one he intended to save from a certain death is was lucky. Though we are living in the year of 2007, there are still so many out there that are just as afraid of everything they cannot understand as they were during the dark ages. In this reality, very few would go this far to save a mutant; an important mutant, there's no doubt about that, but a mutant still.

The hit-man profession always came natural for me. I'd always been different from any of the people I met. I was never able to make any long-term friendships, because they all went tired of me. Some accused me of being not trustworthy and indifferent, some just though that I was acting strange.

The only real friend I ever had was fully convinced that I was an alien. For a long time I actually believed him, it would explain why I never understood what people expected from me, because they always seemed to expect something. Like when Peter nicked apples from Mr Lafferty's garden once. Every kid in school was mortally afraid of Mr Lafferty, an old World War II veteran who passionately hated us kids. Some of the older boys in school said that his squad had gotten separated from the rest of the troops. Lost and out of food they rendered to cannibalism to survive, and ever since he came back from the war, Mr Lafferty would kidnap kids and hide them in his cellar until he killed and ate them. Or at least that was what the older kids said.

Well, the point was that after Peter nicked those apples he seemed to expect something from me. Now later in life I know that he wanted me to react with admiration for his courage. Back them when he gave me the apple and said "How about that?" I just replied "Great, thanks."

They always said that I couldn't be trusted, and my mother always told me it was okay to feel hurt when they accused me of letting them down. The one thing I couldn't tell her was that I didn't feel hurt. I didn't care that they didn't like me anymore, but I did wonder why.

Well back to the point. My simple life changed when I was fifteen and suddenly discovered that I had the ability to manipulate people's nervous system, making them unable to control their own bodies. It meant little to me however since I didn't have any desire to toy with people.

But that all changed the day Peter, my lost friend from our early childhood, suddenly cornered me in an alley behind our school one afternoon. He and a couple of his new friends had followed me through the years, sneaking about in the shadows like stray dogs. I think my indifference provoked them somehow, like my indifference was threatening to them. But they stayed away at least, until that day in October when they suddenly turned on me. They snuck up behind me, grabbed me and dragged me into the abandoned alley behind old man Burkowits's store. Peter carried a baseball bat; his friends were probably there to keep me from getting away.

"Freak," he spat. "We know what you are you freak, and you're not welcome here. Everyone knows what you are. My dad says we can't do anything about you since you've not been arrested. But we know what people like you do." Peter raised the baseball bat, gripping it firmly in his two hands. Passively I watched him approach me. So this was what I had ahead of me in life? Would there always be people coming after me, carrying weapons? Please, try to believe me as I say; I don't get anything from hurting people. But I'm human, and to fight for your life is a human thing to do, right?

Peter swung the bat, and my world seemed to explode and turn into a shower of lightning and flickering lights. I couldn't see, only hear the dull "thunk" as the bat connected to my skull, and then the rush of blood shooting up there. His friends let me go and a stumbled, almost fell. I couldn't see. But I heard them. Felt the energy signals coursing from their brains into every part of their bodies. My vision started to come back, I could make out their silhouettes just a few feet away. I focused on the energy signals, used my powers to locate the impulses sent from their brains to their hands, their arms. And then I severed the communication. I saw Peter look down at his arms, trying to move them but unable to. Now I sent a thought of thankfulness to my mother for making me take Jujutsu lessons for five years. I only wished to get away from them, but they had no plans of letting me go. Again able to see clearly but with a hammering ache inside my head, I saw that Peter was unarmed now, the bat had dropped to the pavement by his feet. But he had a look in his eyes, anger and fear. Like an animal. I knew he wouldn't stop now as he came at me, and instinctively I kicked Peter hard in the chest with the intention of knocking him back. But then everything went wrong when he fell backwards like a ragdoll, twisting a half way in the air before he fell into the clutter of old pipes that had been carelessly left in the alley. Burkowits had had to re-do the piping inside the place, and the waste had not yet been cleaned up. Like in slow motion I saw Peter tumble backwards into the mess, his eyes flickering wildly before suddenly standing still in his skull. Then he looked down at his chest. A small metal pipe had burrowed in through his back and completely impaled him. Looking astounded he opened his mouth, tried to speak but instead a cascade of blood spurted out as he coughed. His friends, I still couldn't remember their names, stood there frozen with shock, staring. Though it can't have taken a minute for him to die, it felt like an eternity. I just stood there, did not call an ambulance though I had a cellphone, did not run for help. I knew he was dying, I could feel it in his energy signals, so I just stood there watching. It's so strange, because it was like I could see the light turn off in his eyes the moment his brain activity stopped, almost as if he was a house someone had just turned off all the lights in before going to bed. His head fell down, his chin resting on his chest. As the realization that Peter was dead dawned upon his nameless friends they turned to me. Their expressions were still blank, but soon they would react.

"Y-you killed him… and you're a mutant," the taller one croaked. And then I could feel him getting ready to run, run to whoever would listen screaming bloody murder. And then, I was done for. No, I could not let that happen. I would be put behind bars, my freedom taken from me, the only thing I had ever really cared for. This was just an unlucky outcome of something they had set in motion.

That's what I told myself then, as I decided to kill them.

I had to focus so hard on cutting the communication between their brains and their legs, that I gave myself a nosebleed. But finally, they wobbled as if their legs were of spaghetti, and then they sunk to the ground. With my mind I disabled their ability to speak, before I kneeled over the tallest one. I whispered a short sentence into his ear, and then I grabbed his head and jaw, and broke his neck. Then I moved onto the third guy, whose mouth opened and closed like he was a fish on land. His eyes were screaming at me, screaming _"Please, don't!"_ But there was no mercy to be had that day. I broke his neck while staring into his screaming eyes, watched the lights go out in them. I thanked the weather for being cold, so I was wearing gloves. No fingerprints. Every amateur who had ever watched a Crime show on TV knew that was the first rule. No fingerprints.

I left their bodies lying there on the cold ground. I thought of what I'd told one of them in his last moments:

"_I'm sorry"_…

But I wasn't.

I was brought in for questioning a week later. Some kids had heard Peter and his friends talking about me earlier that afternoon, and the policemen told me that it was a follow up questioning. They asked me if I met Peter and the two others that afternoon, I told them no. I would say that my indifference saved me that time, I don't get nervous, and they obviously found no signs of the lie I was telling them, because they let me go. But I knew that I was not off the hook, my blood was on the scene. They could not take a DNA sample without my permission or court order, but it would only take them a couple of days to get it. I was in big trouble.

My parents had been informed that I'd been taken in for a routine questioning along with ten other students from our school, and I was going to walk home. I was only one block from my house when a man approached me on the street. He knew my name somehow, and he told me that the people he worked for were interested in my services. When I asked whom it was he was working for he couldn't talk about it here on the street. I would have to come with him. He showed me his badge to prove that he was trustworthy. It had a government watermark. Normally I would not have been interested, but he told me that my life would change if I agreed to help them. That got me interested

They, the man and his two associates, drove me to an abandoned warehouse where they told me more about who they were, and what they wanted me for. Apparently the government has a hidden branch that hires and operates specially trained assassins working with the national safety. The agency was a well-kept secret and only a handful of people knew it existed at all. The man knew what I had done, in fact my actions there was the reason to why they had contacted me. I fit their… requirements with my special abilities. I asked if they knew how old I was and found that they didn't only know my name and age, they knew everything. I suppose some would say it was not fair, I was just a boy. A boy who happened to be in a very bad situation, a situation they now offered to fix by making me go away. But the price was also high.

I died that day, or to be more correct Taylor Greene died that afternoon. The official story is that I fell of the pier and my body was never recovered. I was announced as missing that same day. Three weeks later I was dead. My parents buried an empty casket, few attended my funeral. None of my old friends came, except for Walt who probably thought that a mothership had come to get me, and that I had been reunited with my own species somewhere out in space. I suspect that mom and dad, perhaps Walt, were the only ones who would miss me. Ten years from now, they would probably be the only ones who remembered me. But it's okay. My parents were better off with a dead son than they would have been with a criminal. At least, so it would seem to me.

My new name was Nathaniel Steele and I spent the following six months in training. My targets would be anything from terrorists to political infiltrators, anyone who would threaten the national security or the peace out in the world. It is strange in a way that the law says that murder is a crime, sometimes punishable by death, and here I was, training to murder in the name of the law.

I was a good agent, and I served for six years willingly. But saving Charles Xavier was supposed to be my last mission. I did not feel it anymore, we had always been told to be proud as we were serving the greater good. But I was getting tired, always being on the move from one distant place to another, and wherever I went someone needed to die. My powers were getting unstable, it was harder and harder to control the extent of the alteration of the brain's communication. All this added up to my decision to retire and try to find meaning somewhere away from death.

The man was supposed to neutralise was a hit-man himself. He was a Swiss mutant by the name Dieter Schark. Mr Schark was a spectacular mutant, perhaps one of the few men in the world who would be able to kill Charles Xavier. This mutant had the ability of persuasion, his power was in his voice. I was not aware exactly how it worked, but it had something to do with the frequency of his speech that confused the part of the brain that controlled critical thinking. In other words Schark spoke and people believed him. What made him dangerous to Xavier was not just that ability, but what it was teamed up with. A chip in his brain that somehow made him less susceptible to telepathy. Xavier would be able to reach his mind, but it would be blurry enough to talk the man into believing him. This however made me one of the few people who could neutralise him. I could take away his ability to speak, which is why the mission was mine. I must admit that I was also interested in Charles Xavier, a powerful telepath who was running a seemingly normal prep school, although it was of course a school for mutants. There was more yet to be seen, I thought.

I drove the agency's car up the driveway when the school complex came into sight. The building was huge, four floors high and massive with a huge fountain placed in front of the main gate. I drove up in a moderate pace, not fast enough to turn heads, not slow enough to be noticeable.

My clothes were ordinary, plain even since the only way I could pass by unnoticed was by blending in with the rest of the students. Though my 21 years of age I still had a very youthful face. I know that beautiful sounds very strange when you speak about a man, but to be fair, what 21 year-old is a fully fledged man? No matter in which terms you speak, I would always be described as beautiful. The pale angelic complexion you find in most children had never quite left my features. It could complicate things this time though, since I wanted to blend in rather than stand out. But, yet again, this was a school for mutants.

I parked the Rover by the side of the entrance, didn't bother to lock it, it wasn't mine anyway. I checked that the gun I had stuck down my pants on the back was in place; small calibre and easy to handle. I did not plan to use it, but if things went very wrong I could at least wound Schark enough to keep him from escaping. I was ready to go in now and grabbed my backpack from the ground.

There was a lot of activity going on inside the hall, students were rushing by in a hurry and no one really took notice that a newcomer had entered. I immediately realized that I didn't have to worry about blending in, a boy with blue hair passed me within seconds after I'd closed the door behind me. I saw a young boy levitating a book and a girl suddenly came emerging from a wall in front of me. I took the opportunity and called on her attention.

"Hey miss, yeah you. Could I ask you something?"

She curiously stared at me and came a bit closer.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

I asked her where the professor's office was and she described it to me. I didn't know whether I would tell him or not, but the best way to find Dieter was to introduce myself to the professor first. I met several more students on my way, but only took enough notice of them to memorize some base facts. I didn't meet Dieter however, and I must say that I was a bit disappointed, maybe he wasn't here anymore? Come to think about it, I didn't meet anyone who looked like they could be a teacher at all; it was a bit disturbing.

I reached the closed door to the professor's study. I knew it was the right room since someone thankfully had put a tag with his name on the door. I stopped and put my ear against it and tried not to breathe so I could hear if there was anyone inside. I heard several voices talking, and I quickly estimated it to five people. I threw a glance around in the corridor around me, but there was no one here except for myself.

Using my powers I tried to sense the people inside. Yes there were five people in there and by the feel of it they were all calm. This was however not surprising if they were in the company of Schark. Four of them I didn't recognize as I'd never felt them before, but Schark I had met, once. We only passed eachother. Not aware of eachother's existence at the time but I'd always remember how he felt. Ok so the plan was, barge in and immediately disable Schark's correspondence to his vocal chords. I checked one last time the gun was safely tucked into my pants, and made note to myself to go for it quickly if need be. But there would be no need, this would work. Then calmly opened the door, and stepped into the room.

The professor seemed to be looking at me even before I had stepped in. He knew I was there. I wondered if he knew –why- I was here. Then Schark turned around too. His eyes settled on me, and for a second he didn't see anything suspicious.

"Welcome young man," the professor began. Then I saw Schark put two and two together. His eyes narrowed dangerously, but I was ready for him. My powers sent off a little impulse, effectively preventing communication between his brain and his vocal chords. His mouth opened but no sound came out.

"Dieter Schark, I am here to take you into the custody of the United States government," I said without emotion as I used my powers to disable Schark's arms. I wondered if he remembered brushing past me on a crowded street in Incheon, South Korea one year and four months ago. "Excuse me Mr. Xavier, but this man has come here to murder you. I am here working for the government, and if you need proof all you have to do is read my mind. This mutant is able to convince you anything he says is true," I added.

"Yes," Charles Xavier mumbled with his eyes on me. Was he looking into my mind this very moment? I couldn't feel him in there but maybe he was.

"This young man appears to be telling the truth," Xavier said and then turned his blue eyes to Schark. "I had my suspicions about you Dieter, but you are indeed very persuasive."

"Excuse me but, what is going on?" a white haired woman asked. She was stood by the window in the room, beside her stood a tall man wearing strange goggles. A woman with Auburn hair was sat in one of the Gregorian armchairs.

"It appears we have been deceived by Mr. Schark here, Ororo." Xavier mused.

"I am going to reach into my left pocked and show you my ID," I said mostly to the professor. Holding it up I made sure they could all see it. "I am going to take Dieter Schark with me back to our New York base where he will be detained pending evaluation." I walked over, grabbed Dieter's arms and got the handcuffs from my right pocket. Once he was cuffed I prepared to bring Dieter with me. Having been robbed of his powers he did not struggle much. Perhaps he was tired too, he was about 15 years older than me, and had been in the game for a very long time our sources had found.

"Wait a minute," the woman bit the auburn hair said, seemingly unconvinced of what was happening. The professor however only gave her one look, and she said nothing more. Eerie, this telepathy thing. Then I heard Xavier's voice in my mind instead.

"_When you are done Nathaniel, where will you go?" _I thought to myself that I did not know. Somewhere, anywhere.

"_I can help you, if you let me. Many come here to find answers, the question is, will you return here once Mr. Schark has been detained?"_

I thought about it. Where else would I go? Telepathy… school for mutants, this was rather interesting after all. Amongst so many other mutants, perhaps I would be accepted… no more fighting, It sounded good, I thought, yes I would come back. I think the professor heard me, because he gave a nod.

"The students should be in class. You will be able to escort Mr. Schark out safely," Xavier offered. I nodded him a tank you, and turned myself and Dieter around. When we reached the door I heard Xavier offer a few last words; "Be seeing you again, Mr. Steele."

Me and Dieter Schark exited the school for the gifted. With him safely in the back behind bullet proof glass I drove down the driveway. But I would soon be back, there were just a few last things for me to take care of before I could be a free, unemployed man.

Be seeing you again, indeed.


	2. Through my eyes

**Chapter 2:**_Through my eyes_

I had returned to professor Charles Xavier's school for the gifted. After finding myself by the side of the highway with nothing but a motorcycle and a bag with a few belongings inside. If it hadn't been for the fact that I knew where to go, I'd have felt like a poor man. But this time I did know where to go, to be with my own kind. Because I did have a kind of my own, and I was part of something big. No matter how petty a person, it always feels good to be part of something important that will leave a mark on the world. No matter what you think about life, if no one remembers you when you are gone, your life has been pointless.

But as I now stepped in through the familiar doorway, I was back at the school. And once again my life had significance.

I was given a small private room in the teachers' section of the mansion. My days were spent training and developing my level in combat as well as my power. I worked hard with my mental ability since it seemed to be the key to my mutation. The professor said that the key to everything concentration and focus and I invented exercises where I would train those two abilities. I began meditating as a way of bettering my focus, and slowly I began to see results. I could disconnect larger areas in the nervous system than before and began experimenting to see if I could manipulate the signals that were sent between the brain and the rest of the body. The professor however did not approve of it. I was disappointed since it had opened new doors with opportunities for me, but I suppose I could understand why he worried about me using my powers like that. My lack of morale made me a weapon. Weapons are indifferent to whom the enemy is, it only seeks to draw blood. Men gain courage and hope beside the cold hard steel, they wield it willingly, cherish it. But if you drop your weapon in battle it can be picked up and used against you. When the fight is over for the day you put the weapons aside and go on living. No one loves the cold blade, no one sides with it. I know it is egotistical of me to think of myself as a blade, but what else should I consider myself as? A good man? No, good men care, and good men believe in things. A bad man then? No, bad men too care and believe in things. The difference is that bad men let their hatred rule, and they are always willing to sacrifice others for their cause. So I guess in a way I am a weapon… with a brain. Does that make it better or worse? Not sure myself.

I remember the first time I met her, Rogue. I had been at the school for two weeks already. It was outside of the mansion, in the flower garden and I was walking by on my way down to our hidden survival course out in the woods behind the mansion. The students knew nothing about it, thereby the term 'hidden', and I had taken the habit of crossing the flower garden before heading for it. Not many students passed through the garden, odd maybe because it was spectacular, but I guess normal teens have a lot of other things on their mind than flowers. That's why I was surprised to find her there that morning. I didn't know her name, didn't know any of the students since I avoided them, but I could tell that she was special in a way. She came walking through the garden, he hair was fluttering in the gentle breeze, and her gloved hands were grasping a bunch of papers. Then a document suddenly got caught up in the wind and slipped from her grasp. The wind carried it towards me and I caught it in my right hand, then I walked over to her and returned it.

"Thank you," she said and looked at me with amazement. I could see that my beauty intrigued her, but I wondered why it affected her so much. I'm like a doll, pretty on the outside but hollow, most people notice me right away but are thrown off when they realize I'm also as empty as a doll.

But she didn't look at me like that. There was something else, something alien to me that I could not recognize or understand.

"You are welcome."

"I'm Rogue," she said, bit her lip and reached out a hand to me.

"Nathaniel," I replied and took her hand in mine, her gaze never left my eyes as we shook hands and then let go of one another.

"I haven't seen you here before."

"That doesn't mean I haven't been here."

"But you are not one of us, students I mean?"

"No I am not."

Then I walked passed her and continued further down the path, leaving her behind. I had felt uncomfortable with the way she looked at me, like she was searching for something. I never liked it when people did that, didn't know what to give them then. I reasoned that I probably wouldn't see anymore of her and forgot about our meeting.

The second time we met was several weeks later. I had now been sent on a couple of very small missions along with my supervisor Scott. The first one had been in Chicago where we had escorted a scientist during a convention. The scientist was a mutant who was trying to find answers to mutation by studying DNA. We were there to make sure nothing unpleasant happened to her during the convention, and then escort her home. Our second mission was to deliver invitations to the school to children and teens in NY. Scott liked me, or at least he didn't distrust me like I sensed that Jean did. I knew she had some telepathic abilities, and that she knew of my lack of ethic limitations. She didn't trust me for the same reasons many argued that robots could never be trusted, no matter how sophisticated their technology became in the future, logic can turn friend to foe within minutes, and Grey knew that.

Now back to my second encounter with Rogue. It was mid-day and I was walking up towards the mansion when I saw her sitting by one of the tables on the sun stained school grounds. I hoped that she wouldn't see me, because I knew she would look at me the same way again, in that way that had something to do with the emotions I never felt.

There were two others sitting with her, two boys that looked about her age, two or three years younger than me. One of them was sitting on the opposite side of her, a boy with light brown hair and very blue eyes. He was throwing her small glances every now and then, and his eyes held something that looked like the way she had stared at me. I sighed, wanted nothing to do with them, wished to mind my own business in peace. The other guy was different from the two of them, he was spiky and fluttering in his movement pattern, unsettled. His dirty-blonde hair was combed back from his face and his hand clutched a lighter, one of those refillable ones. His posture was somewhat aggressive, like a frightened dog who shows it's teeth to scare you. He reminded me of Peter the day he attacked me, and again I thought that I wished nothing to do with either of them.

Then she saw me.

"Nathaniel!" she called and I saw no other solution than to go to them.

"Rogue," I replied and grasped her hand, kissed it gently. Her smile was beaming.

"I almost thought I wouldn't see you again." Her eyes told me that I should sit down with them, and I did, thinking that not seeing her again would have been fine with me.

"So, tell me more about you," her southern accent became more obvious than before. She sounded eager. "If you are not a student, and not a teacher, then what are you doing here?"

"I'm training, trying to do something useful with my existence." I hoped that my lack of enthusiasm would discourage her. It didn't however, nothing seemed to take away her fascination.

"What did you do before you came here then?" I sighed.

"I was an agent, but I can't talk about it."

"That's okay," she replied. I was intrigued by what I could see in her, a rare strength and determination. I wondered what gave her this strength, if anyone would be able to take it from her. I turned the corners of my mouth upwards, smiled but knew it didn't reach my eyes. I wanted to ask her about her determination, wanted to tell her that she fascinated me unlike anyone else had ever done. But I knew I wouldn't. She didn't seem to be bothered by the lack of emotion in my smile, I wondered if she even noticed it. She just smiled back. I sensed hostility from one of the boys, the one with the blue eyes and turned to him, locked my stone glare on him.

"I'm Bobby," he said and reached out his hand. I took it; shook twice and then let go.

"Nice to meet you."

Then I got up on my feet, eager to leave this situation involving so many emotions I did neither understand or cared for. I remembered a day over ten years a go when I told Sally Humphrey that Eileen Saunders had told me that her mom and daddy used to fight, and that her daddy used to drink a lot of that stuff that smelled so strongly and that he used to fall asleep on the kitchen floor and sleep there for the rest of the night.

I never meant Eileen any harm by telling Sally those things but she had been angry when she found out, even furious, and she never said one word to me again. I guess it was her shame that became visible as Sally told everyone she knew about Eileen's parents. Shame; it drives so many of them into ruin and misery, and they carry others shame as well as their own. I will never understand how someone can be ashamed for something someone else did, another person's decisions. But again, that's where I differ from normal people. I never thought that there was something wrong with me just because I didn't feel like they did, and by God I'm glad that no one will ever be able to load their shame on me.

"I must go now… Rogue." Her name tasted funny in my mouth.

A week later, my question to why Bobby had seemed to be so hostile was answered. I was passing through the hallway that afternoon when the entrance opened and a man came in. I had not seen him before, but instinctively knew that he was not a stranger here. He looked a bit worn and tired, as if he had travelled long to get here, his clothes were old, kind of ragged. The most striking feature however was his hair and impressive sideburns. Then I suddenly heard a familiar call out.

"Logan!"

Rogue came running down the stairs and threw herself around his neck, then let go.

"Hey kid."

Bobby followed close behind her and she introduced him to Logan. Bobby presented himself as the boyfriend, and Logan looked slightly surprised and with a quick glance on the gloves she always wore he asked how that happened.

I realized I didn't understand what they were talking about. I hadn't asked why she wore those gloves, and now I began to suspect they had something with mutation to do. Then her eyes wandered to me and she lit up. Somehow she always seemed to sense when I was close, and she always came to talk to me, no matter how distant I was for the moment. Nothing I did seem to discourage her, and again I wondered what strange force was driving her. Now she called to me from across the room, and like a dog called on I came to her. I think it's called politeness, to come when someone calls for you.

"Nathaniel, this is Logan," she said and her usual enthusiasm was still present. I slightly tipped my head to acknowledge the man.

"Logan, Nathaniel is the new X-man, she told him. I suddenly understood that he was Wolverine, the absent X-man who had gone to seek answers somewhere else. He snorted.

"Ah, so you are the latest of the masked avengers. And what do they call you?" His question was uttered with sarcasm, as if the whole thing was one big joke. I locked my eyes on his.

"Impulse."

Then I left, tired of the conversation that led nowhere. I heard Rogue make an excuse for me, but knew that Logan would not buy it. His type never liked me very much, not even before they actually knew me.

During the following weeks, Rogue became a frequent visitor. I would meet her everywhere, short conversations that made no sense to me. I didn't understand why she was so interested in me, why she always came back for more after we had parted. I still thought that she was looking for something, but had no idea of what she hoped to find. I accepted and grew accustomed to her, like I had done with Walter who thought I was an alien. The only difference was that my hollowness had convinced Walter that I was from outer space, Rogue seemed to think that I was hiding something. I was waiting for her to lose interest when she found that there was no more to discover, but she didn't. I wondered why.

I did notice that her boyfriend did not appreciate her interest in me however. Bobby seemed to like me less by the day; his frustration was obvious sometimes, because like me he did not understand why Rogue was so persistent.

I found her sitting by a window on the third floor one day, all by herself. She looked sad for some reason and I felt I had to ask her why.

"I ran away from home when I discovered my mutation," she told me, but I could not find why that would make her sad. "And I miss my parents sometimes, because I know that I may never see them again." She fell silent for a while and I let it grow between us. I did not know what to say to her, since I never had missed someone.

"And you?" she suddenly asked me. "Do you miss your parents?"

"My parents think I'm dead."

"I'm sorry," she said, and I knew she was. I didn't reply since I had nothing further to add on the topic. I was not sorry, didn't care at all. I grew up with them, true, but we were never a family, and I know that though I felt very little, if anything at all for them, they loved me. But I wasn't sorry, not for anything at all.

I was called to the professor's office one morning. The rest of the team was gathered there and they all looked serious. A mutant had attacked the president, out-manoeuvred his whole staff and almost killed him, single-handed. But he was shot before he could place the dagger through his heart, and Xavier told us that witnesses said that he disappeared into thin air. I knew that this was bad news for all mutants out there. The anti-mutant groups had just been handed more ammunition than ever before, because if the president was not safe, then who was?

The professor told us that he would try to track him down, and that Storm and Jean would go to get him as soon as he could find his position. Then the meeting was over and I wondered why I had been called there at all. Just before I was about to leave the professor's study, he stopped me and called me back inside.

"Nathaniel, may I talk to you?" I heard the professor whisper inside my head. I turned and walked back and sat down in front of Xavier.

"I am curious to find out how much the agency you worked for knows about this school. And also how they could know Mr. Dieter Schark had been sent here to kill me, and why," the professor looked relaxed but I could tell he was eager to here what I knew. Why ask me when he could just read my mind though? Perhaps it makes him feel normal to just talk to people.

"Corax spawned from the CIA. They know it is a school for mutants, that you train mutants and that you hide a high-technological base underneath it. As long as you do not oppose a threat to the US government in any way they will leave you alone however. Your work is too high profile. Schark is a freelance, so someone must have privately hired him knowing he had a possibility to get to you. Corax has a way of knowing what needs to be gone, and where… but I don't remember how." And I wouldn't ever be able to remember it. Xavier looked at me for a long time.

"How much of their memories did they erase?" He finally asked.

"Everything about their future plans, information about missions I'd rejected, the location of their bases, their identities."

"But why only some of it? They could have erased all knowledge you ever had of them." I leaned forward towards the professor, only slightly as to not seem intimidating.

"Because they want us to remember. We did important work, protected our country against enemies, foreign and domestic. Part of the power of Corax is in that some people know it exists." I closed my eyes for a second. "They gave me a list of things to erase, information and events. I'd done it before when an agent requested to retire, it's easy. You just find the circuits where memories are stored, find the patterns you are looking for, and shut them off. I was one of their best agents, and the one who was employed for the longest. Most are either killed or retire after a couple of years. So erasing my memory was necessary"

The professor was quiet for a moment.

"So they made you erase your own memories; is that a requirement to retire?" I nodded, it was. I had done it many times before in the past. It had to be done. Plato had been right, life is war. In war you had to sacrifice things, even if it was yourself. If they had told me to wipe it all out, every memory I'd ever had, I wouldn't have had a choice. The professor wheeled himself over to the window. Outside the sun was shining through the clouds, the majority of the students were outside.

"Nathaniel," the professor began. "How many men have you killed through the years?"

"I don't know" I responded flatly. I was surprised he asked, worried.

"Did they have that erased?" he asked and turned the wheelchair so he could peer at me from over by the window.

"No, I just never counted." Truth to be told the idea to count had never struck me. I mean wouldn't that be a bit arrogant to keep a body count, and to add, slightly creepy? "It never seemed to matter," I added. There were a few though, but where was he headed with this? "Not all the times the mission was an assassination, sometimes… when it was other mutants, the goal was capture. I don't know why. But other times it was one guy, or several. Sometimes entire offices or floors. Sometimes women too. There was one mission, with a child. Corax had found out the child would grow up to become a tyrant who'd start a revolution in Egypt and then cease power. Eventually he'd conquer Libya and start manufacturing bio weapons threatening to wipe out the entire species. I don't know, they had some source they trusted. Either way, I was sent to murder the child. And I did."

Xavier listened silently, looked at me only. I find it hard to see what other people are feeling, have nothing to associate them with myself. But I think that maybe he pitied me.

"Did you ever feel guilty for killing them?"

What was he looking for?

"No."

"Did it ever make you feel good?"

"No… or there was one time. I'd taken a mission to monitor an Italian man with diplomatic immunity. He was suspected of stealing weapon's technology and selling it to the highest bidder. Until there was proof no action would be taken so I only did surveillance for two months. He was in Chicago. Once every third week he would drive around late at night, picking up a prostitute. He sedated her somehow in the car and then he would drive her to an old industrial lot in east Chicago. He'd take her inside, tape her mouths shut and wait for her to come to. He always waited until they woke up, and then he stabbed them. Many times, over fifty. When they were finally dead he would dismember her, and put each part in a black plastic bag along with his clothes. Always brought spares. Then he would dump the parts into Lake Michigan. Four women he killed under my surveillance. Then finally one day one of his deals came through, the order to kill him was delivered to me. I drove him out to the same warehouse, and I killed him the same way he'd killed those women. And it felt good. But that's the only time."

I got up from my seat and walked over to the window so I could see Xavier more clearly. Why was he asking these questions? He must know some of the answers already, so why? I've never understood that part really, where people ask even though they know, or think they know the answers already. If they did know they only get confirmation while you tire your voice, and if they thought wrong they're likely to reject your answers either way.

"Have you ever wanted something for yourself, Nathaniel? You have served others sense of justice, but what have you wanted for yourself?"

I thought of it. What did I want? To live of course, but there had to be something beyond that. Money, power mattered little. Material things can be replaced, people can be replaced. Once I read a quote "You can walk away from house and home, but not from your memories." And now I thought about the meaning of it. What would let me know I had done a good job, and what would make me feel good as I looked back upon it?

"I think… I want someone to remember and to talk about me as someone who did something great. Not just that but I want to be remembered as a person, not a monster or… something else."

"Then that is your goal. Can you stay true to it, even if you might be offered money, power or other things to turn you from that path?"

I turned the corners of my mouth upwards, tried to smile reassuring even though I knew my eyes would still have a cold shine to them.

"Money I have, and power is always a relative thing as it never stabilizes. But memories, they prevail. I will stay true."

The professor smiled then. A slightly crooked and estimating smile he had. I think the professor is a lot more calculating then he lets on.

"I believe you. Now to another issue," he started and seemed to lean back slightly in his chair. His smile was suddenly one of amusement. I did not particularly find that reassuring. "I have noted that you never graduated Highschool. I assume you did get some tutoring in your training, plus the things you have picked up over the years. Knowledge however is power, so Mr. Steele how would you like to become a real student here and finally get that diploma?"

My first thought was no, no way. I would have to mix with the other students, be social. It was not my strongpoint. A survivor of course I adapt, blend in with the masses but would it be worth the hassle? But then, memories prevail. Knowledge… I'd always liked books and papers with information. There was something so absolute about words written down. That did appeal to me. I'd have to make nice with the professor too, keep him close so I'd not find myself blindsided and left out in the cold at one point. Being on his good side would give me a better chance of seeing things come our way.

"I could, never thought of it before. Do you think I should professor?"

"I'll have the teachers test you to see which level you are on, and we'll try to find something that suits you."

I nodded, thought the conversation was over finally then. Talking to Charles made me feel scrutinized and picked apart only to be put together again. He too was searching for something in here, but what was he thinking? All the questions, he was up to something. Sizing me up perhaps… I'd gathered loyalty to a cause was important here. Perhaps I should try to appear loyal, however I would do that. Is loyalty logical or emotional? I'd have to think about that one.

"I will let you know when and where to be for your tests. And Nathaniel, remember what we spoke about today."

"I will," I replied and left the room.

Right. Remember the conversation, easily done. But why? Had it been significant without me realizing it? I found that hard to believe, the world works according to patterns after all, and I was good with finding them. He had seemed interested when we talked about my work as an agent, or rather when we spoke about the killings. He had asked me how it felt, if it made me feel guilty, or if it gave me pleasure…

Have you seen the lights go out in someone's eyes as they die? It's not beautiful, not sad. In fact, it doesn't make me feel anything at all.

"Only the dead have seen the end of war" - Plato


End file.
